


When We Tremble

by Cinaed



Category: CSI: Las Vegas
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-16
Updated: 2006-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever something stressful occurs, Wendy's hands start to shake and she needs a cigarette like a drowning man needs oxygen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When We Tremble

Wendy Simms isn’t a chain-smoker. In fact, she is part of the group defined as "social smokers" -- in other words, the lazy, cheap smokers who bum off their friends. Wendy, for instance, smokes whenever she suspects that Jacqui is in a generous mood and will actually deign to let her have a cigarette. (Wendy does, however, realize that she has an addiction, because whenever something stressful occurs, her hands start to shake and she needs a cigarette like a drowning man needs oxygen, and so she keeps an emergency pack of cigarettes in her locker, just in case.) 

As soon as she hears the words "Archie" and "police" and "hospital" in the same sentence, uttered by Catherine in a soft, worried voice, Wendy’s hands start to tremble, so violently that she is surprised that no one else can hear the bones rattling around under her skin. Her mouth dries out and she finds herself going to the water fountain again, and again, and again, just to moisten her lips and wet her throat so that she can speak. 

Even after they find out the full details -- that a drunk attacked Archie on the street and that, while shaken, Archie has only suffered a dislocated shoulder and a couple bruises -- Wendy’s hands continue to tremble. She knows she’s going to need a cigarette if she’s going to get through the shift without destroying a piece of evidence. 

She finds the emergency pack of cigarettes in her locker that is months old, and there’s only one and a half left anyway (one is broken in half with the lower part missing). Still, a cigarette is a cigarette, and Wendy goes up to the rooftop to smoke away her shakes. 

She shouldn’t be surprised (and isn’t) when Jacqui is already there, a collection of cigarette butts surrounding her feet and another cigarette dangling between her lips. Jacqui’s dark gaze flickers towards her and then back towards the skyline, and Wendy says nothing at all as she moves to stand next to the print tech. 

Fumbling with her lighter for a moment, hands still trembling, Wendy finally manages to light her cigarette, taking a long, desperate drag of it. She half-closes her eyes at the welcomed rush of nicotine, even if it is stale, and the rattling under her skin gradually eases, leaving beneath a dull ache that Wendy can easily ignore. 

She takes another drag of her cigarette, and glances over at Jacqui, who is still staring out at the skyline, a furrow between her eyes and a slight frown puckering her lips. After a moment, Jacqui turns and meets her eyes, and the cigarette wobbles precariously on her lips as she mutters, "Fucker." Her voice is smoky from the cigarettes littering the ground and hoarse from repressed emotion. 

Wendy nods, and when she tries to speak, words catch in the back of her throat and lodge there, and all that comes out is a soft, fervent, "_Fucker_," that earns an almost cynical smile from the other woman. She takes another long drag, as though that will unlock her voice, and it almost works, because this time when Wendy swallows and tries to speak, a few more words slip past her lips. "Got another cigarette for when I’m done with this one?" 

Jacqui nods, and Wendy smiles gratefully before she turns towards the skyline and studies the vibrant nightlight that is Las Vegas. After a moment, she murmurs, "We all driving our own cars to the hospital, or carpooling?" 

"Our own cars," Jacqui mutters, and when Wendy drops the cigarette butt to the ground and crushes it beneath her shoe, the print tech hands over a new cigarette with the careful tenderness of a father handing his daughter over to the groom. 

There is a long, fragile sort of silence for a moment, as Wendy lights her cigarette and loses herself in the fresh nicotine haze. Even the aching in her hands is starting to ebb and she suspects that she’ll be able to get back to work in a few minutes. She clears her throat and asks, "Think we can find a store that sells Star Trek ‘Get Well Soon’ balloons?"

Jacqui snorts and half-smiles at that, and some of the tension that has been sharpening the lines of her face disappears as she shrugs. "Who knows? We can send David on a search of the entire city." 

"I heard that," says a familiar voice, and then David is settling himself again the railing between the two of them, shooting them mock-disgruntled looks. "And you two will owe me gas money if it takes me longer than an hour." 

"Deal," Jacqui and Wendy say together.

When Jacqui offers him a cigarette, David (who doesn’t smoke and is constantly sticking Nicoderm patches on Jacqui when she isn’t looking) accepts it; he mutters a curt thank-you as Wendy lights it for him and takes a careful, small drag. 

And then there is just silence and the rush of nicotine through their veins, and the city lights, and the gradual decline of the shakes that rattle their frames.   



End file.
